It was Christmas Eve, and everything was just as she had hoped for, longed for. Prayed for. Here they were, she and Mike, sitting down to the traditional supper with their family gathered around-half of it, anyway-with a precious grandbaby dozing in her lap and Eric home at last. And this year’s batch of soup was especially good, if she did say so herself-just the right amount of pepper, perfect balance of potatoes, celery and onions-and the cornbread, Gwen’s special recipe, was delicious, as always. So, why didn’t it feel like a joyous occasion? Why didn’t it feel like Christmas?

How could it, Lucy thought in exasperation, with Eric staring moodily into his soup and not saying a word to anyone, and Devon sitting so still and straight, her face pale as death, composed and beautiful as a statue of some ancient goddess. And yes, Mike was right, now that he’d mentioned it, she did remind Lucy of Chris, sitting right here at this same table that day so many years ago when Earl had brought her to visit for the first time…lovely Chris, with her desperate secrets and buried pain.

“Eric,” Lucy said brightly, determined to lighten his mood, at least, “have you talked to Caitlyn since you’ve been back?” Eric cleared his throat, but before he could answer, Lucy turned to Devon to explain, “Caitlyn is Eric’s cousin-my brother Earl’s daughter. They were such good friends, growing up-the closest of all the cousins in age- Caitlyn’s just a year younger. I hope you’ll have a chance to meet her tomorrow. The last I talked to Chris-her mother-she still wasn’t sure she was going to be able to get away. Caitlyn’s a social worker in Kansas City, you know. Christmas is their busiest season…”

“She’s coming,” Eric said.

“Really? When did you talk to her? Did she say for sure?”

Eric shifted and once again cleared his throat. “I talked to her last night. She said she’d be here.”

“Oh,” Lucy breathed, “I’m so glad.” Then she frowned. “Last night? When? I didn’t hear-”

“It was late. You and Dad were already in bed.”

“Oh. Well, then.” Lucy subsided, but she was definitely losing faith in Providence.

On the one hand there was Eric, whose mood, far from being cheered by the prospect of a visit with his favorite cousin, now seemed blacker than ever. And on the other, well, what in the world had come over Devon? All of a sudden her pale-as-marble cheeks had warmed to a lovely shade of pink, and after not so much as glancing his way all evening long, now she was gazing at Eric with her eyes all aglow like Christmas stars.

Chapter 14

H ow did I get here? Devon wondered as she silently crumbled cornbread into dust and nodded, smiling, at whatever it was Lucy had just said.

How had Devon O’Rourke, up-and-coming L.A. lawyer with a reputation for being both hard-headed and cold-hearted, wound up in a farmhouse in Iowa, eating potato soup on Christmas Eve with the family of her adversary? Who was he, anyway, this man who had invaded her being like an alien life force and now acted as though she didn’t exist?

It was her own fault that she’d walked into this mess unarmed and unprepared. She’d been so certain she had Eric Lanagan pegged, catalogued and pigeon-holed, only to find time and time again that she didn’t know him at all. What did she know about him now, other than the fact that he was eons older than his chronological age-probably what New Agers would call an “old soul”? The fact that he was both kind and ruthless, a man of character and deep principles-even if those principles didn’t always coincide with the law?

Those things alone would make him one of the most formidable opponents she’d ever faced. But what made her go cold and her stomach knot was the full and clear knowledge that she didn’t want him to be her adversary.

What do you want him to be, Devon?

A wave of longing surged through her, like the roar of a powerful wind, and she clamped down on it with all the strength of her formidable will.

Impossible, she told herself with the harshness of hard-headed, cold-hearted reality. Even if the phone call she’d overheard last night hadn’t been to a lover after all. Impossible.

Christmas Eve supper was finally over. It had seemed interminable to Eric, torn as he was between the anguish of knowing it would be the last one he’d ever enjoy here in his childhood home, and the desire to soak in and relish every moment, every detail, to imprint them forever in his memory. Torn, too, between an awareness of Devon that was a constant hum deep within him-a prickling just under his skin, and the knowledge that after tomorrow he’d never see her again.

After helping to clear the table, Eric relieved his mother of the baby and he and Mike retired to the parlor, leaving the women to dispose of the dishes and leftovers. While Eric introduced Emily to the wonder of Christmas tree lights, Mike carried in an armload of wood and set about building a fire. Other than his dad’s running commentary on the progress he was making, neither of them said much. There seemed to be even more than the usual awkwardness between them, an odd kind of constraint. Almost, Eric thought, as if he knows.

“Okay, I think that’s going pretty good,” Mike said. He rose and replaced the screen, then turned, dusting his hands. His smile as he came to join Eric beside the tree was tentative; regret tore at his heart. “What do you think? Should we make some popcorn to go with that eggnog your mom made?”

“I don’t know, Dad, I’m pretty full.”

“Yeah, okay. Maybe later.” His father stood beside him in silence, thumbs hooked in the back pockets of his jeans. After a moment he said, “Nice tree this year, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” said Eric, “it’s a nice one.”

Mike gave him a sideways look and cleared his throat. “Thanks for the book gift certificate, by the way. Came in yesterday’s e-mail-your mother’s, too. Forgot to mention it.”

Eric lifted a shoulder and watched the tree lights reflected in the baby’s eyes. “Yeah, well, I know you both always like books.”

Mike rubbed the back of his neck and smiled ruefully as he surveyed the pile of presents under the tree. “With so few of us, I never can quite figure out how we always wind up with so many presents. Of course, some of ’em are for tomorrow-for Wood and Chris and Caity. And there’re the ones Ellie and Quinn sent for everybody, too.” He glanced over at Eric. “Where’s the one you made for Devon? I don’t see it here.”

Eric brushed that aside with a quick shake of his head and muttered gruffly, “I’m going to give it to her later. I thought it might be kind of…” He coughed, knowing he couldn’t explain.

“I understand,” his dad said quietly.

Eric gave him a startled look, then a longer one. And he wondered if somehow his dad really did understand, though he couldn’t think how that could be.

He thought about how it would be if he could put his arms around his father and tell him…not so much that he loved him-he was sure both he and Mom already knew that-but how sorry he was that he’d been a rebellious, ungrateful pain-in-the-butt growing up. Tell him how much he appreciated the freedom he’d been given to leave and make his own way, and how deeply he regretted the years he’d stayed at a distance. Maybe try to explain that he’d kept that distance because he’d been afraid of the pull this place had on him-something he’d only just found out himself. He thought how it would be if he could tell his dad everything. About Devon, and why he had to leave again. Then, at least, he’d be able to say goodbye.

“Dad,” he began. But he could hear his mother’s voice in the hallway, now. He caught a breath and with an aching void where his heart should be, ducked his head and kissed his little girl’s head to hide the brightness in his eyes.

Everyone was trying so hard to be kind. Devon didn’t know how much more she’d be able to stand.

There was more food-popcorn and eggnog and those spicy molasses cookies-more reminiscences, and more schmaltzy Christmas music on the stereo. Lucy again begged “the young people” to sing, and this time-out of guilt, perhaps?-Devon allowed herself to be talked into joining Mike and Eric in singing “Silent Night.” She sang the melody, since it was the only part she knew, joining her unspectacular soprano with Mike’s pleasant baritone. As before, after the first few notes, Eric slipped into the harmony. Lucy sat sideways in the recliner and rocked Emily and beamed at them all, while her eyes grew shiny with happy tears.

After that, they opened gifts, taking their time about it, exclaiming, laughing…sometimes crying-over each and every one. Lucy’s gift to Mike was a set of videos on the Vietnam War. Mike’s gift to her was tickets for a February Valentine’s cruise to Hawaii, which Lucy loudly protested, though everyone in the room could see that she was surprised and deeply touched. Their daughter Rose Ellen and her husband had sent a videocam attachment for Mike’s computer. “We got us one, too,” they’d written on the card, “so we can see each other when we e-mail.”

Mike and Lucy gave Eric a huge boxful of darkroom supplies. “You can take them with you,” Lucy hastened to assure him, looking anxiously into her son’s face “You don’t have to use them here.”

Eric leaned awkwardly across the space between them to hug her and murmur, “Thanks, Mom.” Devon felt a lump in her throat.

In addition to gift certificates from an on-line bookstore, Eric gave each of his parents a framed photograph of himself holding Emily, small enough to sit on a desktop or dresser, or to join the collection on the mantelpiece. When she unwrapped hers, Lucy wiped away tears and blew her nose, and Devon, watching and doggedly smiling, felt her face would crack.